


Wine & War

by Faeriache



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: M/M, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Trans Hypnos (Hades Video Game), Trans Male Character, ares has PTSD symptoms can't change my mind and that includes insomnia and nightmares, dionysus is a thirsty bitch ( no pun intended ), everyones really smitten with hypnos, porn with pretty much no plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-16 04:55:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28825572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faeriache/pseuds/Faeriache
Summary: Ares interest comes thinly veiled and poorly disguised, but no one seems to mind.  He leans closer, he lowers the wine, tilts his head and speaks slowly.  "Oh...?  I would repay such kindness with enthusiasm.  DIonysus can attest to my struggles in that regard."  Ares settles on one edge of the long couch, boldly pressing closer to Hypnos, enough to offer the goblet of wine so that he might tip it into his mouth.  He sees the invitation from Dionysus just for what it is.Or, Hypnos and Dionysus are having a good time.  The rest of the house has been placed under a mystic sleep -- except of course, for those who weren't sleeping to begin with.  Ares wasn't expecting this, but he isn't complaining.
Relationships: Ares/Dionysus (Hades Video Game), Ares/Dionysus/Hypnos (Hades Video Game), Ares/Hypnos (Hades Video Game), Dionysus/Hypnos (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 78





	Wine & War

**Author's Note:**

> Part one of two. Made from an RP into a nice reading format for you! Should have another chapter up in a day or so featured the bulk of the real sex. Most of this is just foreplay and ... dionysus and ares having a stupid amount of banter above a poor, very aroused Hypnos.

Though the morning draws near, and soon it will be time to drag the sun out from its keep and light a new day, the sounds of mirth and pleasure flow from the chambers of Dionysus with rigor. They echo the halls of the east wing - and initially, Hypnos worried over the consequences of being too loud in the house of Zeus, but Dionysus solved their problem as effortlessly as he might draw smoke from pipe. (Dozens of times has he watched the god of Revelry smoke, and Hypnos has yet to figure out just what the trick is to keep the coughing fits at bay.)   


"If only there was something someone could do to- oh, I dunno, man- keep them from waking up 'till we're through?" Dionysus watched smugly from the corner of his eye as Hypnos' expression evolved from confusion, to realization, to delight.   


"Oh!"   


"Bingo. You got it, man."   


Hypnos fails to consider that while the majority of the mountain is restful, peaceful in sleep, there might be some finding sleep evasive. His sleepy veil, the pall he casts over the hall of Zeus only rests over those with eyes already closed.   


They have not yet moved from the sofa when Ares arrives. A spent bottle of wine lay discarded on a nearby cushion. NOt far of is its brother in reverence, a smoldering pipe resting precariously on the couch arm. Dionysus has his guest reclining back against his chest, one arm locked around their waist while the other moves beneath blood-red stola with salacious rhythm. The waif of a thing in his grasp does a poor job biting back all the whimpers and mewls he elicits. They bounce of high ceilings until they're nothing but formless sounds.  


"Lord Dionysus--"  


"Dio, baby, just Dio."   


"Sorry! Sorry, Dio--"   


Really, it's the least of the noise heard from these quarters tonight. (Laughter, gossip, yelling for no reason other than dramatic effect) but there's nothing to say it will remain that way. Hell, it looks as if they're just getting started.   


Dionysus freezes when he catches Ares in the doorway. Grins.  


"Hey, Hypnos. It looks like we've got a visitor. Come to join the festivities for a change, have you Ares?" Dionysus raises a chin toward his brother, and the wine-sodden, lust-laden creature heavy in his lap lags behind with bleary eyes.   


"Huh--?" They finally find Ares and shoot wide open with shock and recognition. Behind Zeus, Ares is possibly the last God he wanted to be walked in on by. Whatever terrified sound he tries to make is lost somewhere in the back of his throat as Dionysus rocks his arm, curling his fingers inside of him.  


"Can't say I blame you. I mean, isn't he just the sweetest thing you ever seen, man?"  


A piercing gaze narrows, zeroing in on the little cloud in his arms -- he mistakes Sleep for a Nymph for only a few scant seconds. But Ares is observant, and would recognize the twin of beloved Death anywhere.  


What he doesn't understand is what is he doing here?   


"The house remains in a deep slumber. Aphrodite herself would not waken-- I see now that the answer is simple. You have cast a veil of sleep upon them. For some reason." Ares crosses the threshold like he owns the place-- even dressed down, without chest plate and bracers, without warpaint, he cuts an intimidating picture. "Ah, I see. Father dearest still has it out for good, merciful sleep, is that it? Afraid to lose your party to a bolt of lightning?" Dionysus need not answer. Ares knows it's true.   


"Always is the greater suspicion when the noises coming from this sequestered corner are not so disruptive. Should be worried when you're quiet, Dionysus. You so seldom are. I was concerned about what I would find." Ares and Death are-- close acquaintances. Nothing Ares has done seems to win his affections. He can't help but compare the two of them immediately. The little thing in Dionysus bed reminds him of Thanatos only in the most disconnected way.   


"Hypnos, I think it was." Ares takes the goblet of wine resting nearest (presumably belonging to Dionysus, whose cup is never empty.) and takes a long draught of it without care for the God's pouting. "He looks like a sheep." It genuinely isn't intended to be insult. Ares just blurts the first thing that comes to mind. He thinks of counting sheep, the ridiculous mortal imagination of attempting to lull the mind to peace -- perhaps it comes from Hypnos very countenance.   


"A sheep?" Dionysus makes a show of looking his little lover over, who seems as bothered as a sheep might be about the comparison. "Nah, man, I think he looks like a dream. Though, I can see how those more experienced in lying with animals than me might make the comparison."   


"What does that make you then, exactly?" He asks, mumbling into his wine, untroubled. Their banter is friendly -- as Dionysus may very well be the only true friend Ares has in the house. The other Gods are less fond of him-- but celebration and revelry follow victory. And Victory follows war. "Don't let Dite hear you say that. Or imply it, as the case may be."   


Ares takes another look. He thinks of dreaming, and sees only harsh edges, steel and black metal. He sees war.   


"If he is a dream, your dreams take a shape unknown to me; for nothing quite so appealing has ever appeared in them."   


"That's so sad!" Hypnos only realizes how that might be received after he decided to send it out into the world, and quickly fumbles to fix it. "Not- to imply that you're sad or anything, Lord Ares, haha -- I just meant sleep is supposed to be good, y-y'know?"   


The closer Ares has lingered the more tense Hypnos has gotten. Dionysus can feel it around his fingers - but he can also feel how he wets around them, too. _So you like a little fear in the mix, do you?_ Dionysus thrills at the thought. But just to be sure he ventures above to graze across the clit fat and extended with masculinity which protrudes from the hood of his swollen sex. Hypnos quakes as he brushes against it, and Dionysus is sure it's grown since Ares arrived.   


He watches Ares drink with his chin nestled in Hypnos' shoulder.   


"You know, Ares- Hypnos here is something of a miracle worker in the sleep department. Duh, right? But really, ever since I began indulging in the pleasure of his company, man, I actually look forward to sleeping. I mean- rest like you wouldn't believe." Dionysus tempts, and Ares eyes narrow with newfound intensity. Sleep is an elusive beast to him. A struggle he seeks always to burn out, as exhaustion frequently dogs his steps whenever the bloodlust has left him.   


Something has drawn his attention, but whether it's the promise of rest or the sudden, heady realization of what he's walked in on, who can say? Dionysus notices the moment his eyes cut away from their features ( as Ares is a man who looks his enemies, and his friends, in the eyes at all times. ) and seems to realize just where Dionysus has his fingers buried.   


Sharp gaze lingers over every inch of Hypnos before coming to watch Dionysus talented fingers inside of him, thrusting in slow, undulating currents.   


Hook, line, sinker.   


Ares interest comes thinly veiled and poorly disguised, but no one seems to mind. He leans closer, he lowers the wine, tilts his head and speaks slowly. "Oh...? I would repay such kindness with enthusiasm. DIonysus can attest to my struggles in that regard." Ares settles on one edge of the long couch, boldly pressing closer to Hypnos, enough to offer the goblet of wine so that he might tip it into his mouth. He sees the invitation from Dionysus just for what it is.   


A rivalry with sleep not even Ambrosia can soothe is something heartbreaking in the book of Dionysus. What is a better chaser to a night of sweaty debauchery if not sleep? He hates to see it, and he loves to see his brother conquer. He cannot lose!   


Dionysus assents with a grave nod. "And the poor thing hardly admits it. I mean, most of the time he calls it 'nightwatch', instead of what it really is. Ares needs help only you can provide, man." It's working-- be it their praise or Ares' mere proximity, Hypnos only continues to slick around his fingers, easing the already pliant way until Dionysus can fit a third finger without fear of consequences as he continues to fuck him with lazy, shallow thrusts.   


Hypnos drinks down another mouthful of wine before responding. Though he quickly finds it impossible to maintain eye contact with Ares without feeling he might burst into flames, and takes the closing his eyes instead. How do you make conversation with a man while being openly fingered, let alone the God of War? (Just being near him feels like standing beside a bonfire- but unlike with Hades it's not caused by any flaming limbs. It's his intensity. His very aura buzzes like the metal between two colliding swords.)   


"Uhm-- yeah! Of course! I would be happy to help. So, I can do a lot, actually, I can put you to sleep right now, or I can--" His words cut into a cry as Dionysus suddenly pumps his fingers deep into the Cthonic God once, twice, three times, then rips them free to inspect the wet still clinging to them. Hypnos is left panting, twitching. How cruel it is to be left so empty. If Dionysus died now, he would find his way to Tartarus, for sure.  


"Sorry, Hyp. What was that? I just had to see- look how wet you got, man!" Dionysus displays three digits proudly. The only thing keeping Hypnos from chasing those fingers with a hungry mouth is the rooting gaze of war.   


"Hardly even touched your dick and yet look at this harvest. This couldn't be because of our man Ares here, could it--?" It's not a question. Dionysus says it like a song, kissing into Hypnos' hair, pulse, neck, with lustful eyes held onto his brother all the while. Hypnos flusters beneath it all. What is he supposed to say? Yes seems too simple, a full explanation too winded.  


He nods.  


Dionysus chuckles at his response, releasing Hypnos to lean back against his elbow- setting up for the show.   


"Aw, Ares, your first crush!"   


Hypnos doesn't move from his lap but does adjust to support his own weight with the loss of Dionysus as a back rest. His stola falls from his waist, bunching around the tops of his thighs and concealing just enough to be modest. The most tragic thing about this situation? Not a soul will believe him if he tries to tell them the majority of his first meeting with Ares was spent pussy-out.   


Ares is too invested in the invitation given to even consider the possibility of sleeping at this moment, and he says as much as he passes the Goblet of wine into Dionysus now free hand as he prowls closer.   


"Slick for me?" One bold hand dips between the valley of Hypnos thighs, testing-- they brush over his little cock, standing so fervent, and into the heat of him with curious, exploring fingers. "So you are." His fingers curl, brushing sweet places inside him with an expert touch-- Who would have known war was such a lover?   


(Though doesn't it stand to reason? Passionate war, bloodlusting Ares- and the goddess of infinite and insatiable desire who shares his bed. Of course he is a lover.) "Come back, Dio, don't be cruel to him now. We can share." Something in his tone promises to make this good, betrays a great excitement at sharing this conquest with his beloved brother of feast.   


And what a feast it will be.  


Whatever cruelty Ares speaks of, Hypnos doesn't know it. Not anymore, as Ares replaces those fingers in an exquisite test of waters. He moans and arches his hips into it, threatening to melt down to a hopeless pile of delightful sensation right there in Dionysus lap, under Ares' watch.  


"Hey, can't a guy lie back and enjoy some bubbly without being labeled cruel? I'm enjoying the show, man." But it works. Dionysus finishes what's left in the chalice and rejoins the party as an active member. He begins by unfastening the belt which cinches all that fabric to Hypnos' waist. "Let's get this awful thing off of you, yeah? Arms up-" And he pulls the stola off over his head. "There we go. Much better, don't you think?"   


Hypnos nods, either too occupied or too eager to care how underdressed he might be in comparison. Dionysus rewards him with a flurry of open-mouthed kisses down the side of his neck and a wandering hand. It traces over pale ribs and sternum until finally it finds a nipple to tease. Hypnos gasps.   


"I'm excited, man. I've got like, butterflies in my stomach, y'know that feeling?" Dionysus has settled back in his place propped against Hypnos' shoulder as he teases at his chest, breaking occasionally to dance his fingers over his breast bone, stomach, or throat, and carrying on with Ares in conversation all the while. (Hypnos is thankful to be a bystander rather than the subject of their intense brand of eye contact.) "Been trying to get you to one of my orgies for years, man-- and what finally gets you in on a group scene with me? A little sleep."  


Ares can't resist the urge to roll his eyes, and does-- "Brother, dear, a threesome does not an orgy make." He huffs a breath of laughter, and returns with vigor ot his task. He isn't quite so languid and lazy as his dear brother; he fucks Hypnos relentlessly, fast and hard, fingers hitting just the right places-- expert aim, if you will.   


"Just because I don't appreciate rolling around your bed with 15 people too high off their asses to worship me properly doesn't mean I don't enjoy you-- but you already knew that." It would be rude not to give Hypnos his undivided attention, as intense as it may be-- he leans closer, presses hot, open mouthed kisses to his throat and collar, leaving dark bruises where he goes. His fingers plunge in a sharp rhythm. ( The unadulterated attention of war; he leaves his mark wherever he goes. Brutal.)   


"Tell me then, sleep. Has Dio given you the good stuff yet?" He tilts his head with a curious eye, but that burning gaze stays glued to Hypnos. "Puts ambrosia to shame it does, heats the blood. WIll make this--" He thrusts roughly, fingers massaging his cervix-- "Feel like paradise."   


Dionysus coos as the quivering, crying cloud between them turns to a puddle at the smallest crumb of Ares' attention. The Olympian nears to bestow love bites and Hypnos wraps two quaking arms around his neck in a gesture so adorable Dionysus might melt at the sight of it. So nervous, yet more daring than most would ever be around War himself.   


Hypnos struggles to respond beneath all of the attention. He has to bite his lip just to keep from crying in Ares' ear. He speaks, but his voice is composed of scattered notes. His breath is choppy. He keeps laughing without the anxious sound. Dionysus takes pity, pressing soft things of kisses to the lines of Hypnos' shoulders, and answers on his behalf.   


Dionysus clicks his tongue Ares' way. "Oh, and here I thought my parting was Cruel. Make up your mind, bro." What he doesn't say is good idea. He deposits Hypnos into Ares' care with one easy motion, effectively freeing himself to mosey on over to the impressive collection of bottles occupying the space of an entire wall. He takes down something dark in color, shimmering through the crystal, and inspects the label. Nods. "Might have a nip myself, now that you mention it. Ares?" He gestures toward him with the bottle.  


Hypnos has long gone incognizant of what sounds he's making. They've grown minds of their own by now. But Hypnos is sure he's loud when Ares somehow pushes even deeper than before and with it comes a shock of pressure deep within him. It feels good. It hurts. He's not sure which one wins.   


"Yeah. I'll have a bit." Ares answers simply, hand pulling free of Hypnos in order to grab his hips, dragging him down the length of the sofa so he lies flat. He leans over Hypnos, taking the chalice when it's offered-- and in a show of drama befitting his lovely Aphrodite, takes a drink of it before he delivers it to Hypnos in a searing kiss-- and Hypnos drinks it this way.   


Ares over him, cock hanging heavy hard beneath the hem of chiton, Hypnos pliant and keening-- drinking sweetest ambrosia from the very mouth of war. Ares holds his hips down, and a little boldly, begins to rut against the slick of him. Against the wet heat of his cunt, providing delicious friction just where Hypnos most desires it-- he slides against the hard swell of Hypnos cock over and over again.   


There is something to be said about the sight of Ares lording over his little Hypnos, all powerful muscle and contrasting skin. He knows this must be how Ares looks when they have their moments together. His back curves exactly like this when he leans over Dionysus. His smile cuts just the same. It heats the skin to see from another perspective. Dionysus' arousal only continues to grow as he watches Ares bend down and realizes that it's his drink that Hypnos is desperately trying not to spill. Their lips sealed, tongues moving. Hypnos' fragile throat swallows his gifted mouthful but he still continues to search, licking into Ares' mouth as if afraid to waste a single drop. Hypnos isn't sure which is more intoxicating, the sweet of the drink or the taste of Violence.   


Whatever it may be goes directly to his dick. He feels it as a warmth blooming through his limbs, drifting down, down, in graceful sweeps like seeds falling from trees (twirling in the wind) until finally coming to pool in his gut. That exact moment is easy to pinpoint as Hypnos' lazy, drunken moans find desperate pitch.   


Dionysus can't take it. He tosses back a mouthful for himself and climbs in with them. His cock is already full mast and throbbing as he peels out of his scant covering.   


"Would you look at that." The God of Wine strokes himself idly as he uses the other hand to free Hypnos' swollen dick from its little hide, massaging little circles against the root. Hypnos inhales sharply and jerks as it's exposed to the cool air and Ares rutting cock in turn.  


"Oh, Lord--!" Sleep claps a cool grey hand over his mouth, whether in overwhelm or embarrassment, one can't be certain.   


"I know Hyp, I know. Feels good, now, doesn't it?" Dionysus purrs, continuing to massage at the base of Hypnos' cock. If Ares just so happens to fuck up against his hand every now and against then that's fine too.   


Hypnos nods after a second of buffer.  


"He's doing your favorite thing, too. And you didn't even have to ask. YOu two didn't fuck before and I just didn't know about it, right?" Hypnos shakes his head.   


"No, no way--" Dionysus smiles.  


"Must be fate, then." The god of revelry meets his gaze over Hypnos, and the look shared is something intense and silent. Ares' hips stutter as the fuck against Hypnos, brushing Dionysus hand -- It would be embarrassing, to come so quickly. Perhaps it's the slow heat of ambrosia going to his head, pooling in his gut. He slows his pace considerably, as Hypnos mewls under him with the need of it.   


"Shh, sweet thing, relax." Ares' hushes, voice heady and quiet, low and rough with the want of him. "I don't plan to leave you twisting. Dio, do you want his throat, or do you want to fuck him properly?" 


End file.
